


look at me now

by poltergeisted



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: (it's brief but warrants a warning), (with a happy ending!), Angst, Anxiety, Bluth Bonding, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, but that's just The Bluths, family dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:26:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poltergeisted/pseuds/poltergeisted
Summary: Michael couldn't help but hold out hope for something good, deliberately ignoring the side of his brain that relied on logic alone.Because that side of his brain was warning him that this was probably just another one of GOB’s magician meetings, in which GOB would plead that Michael be his stand-in assistant. Or the Hot Cops needed a place to crash for the weekend, and GOB wanted Michael to convince their parents to let a group of male strippers move in “temporarily”.But Michael was ignoring that part of his brain,so.
Relationships: (buster is there too but), George Oscar "Gob" Bluth & Lindsay Bluth Funke, George Oscar "Gob" Bluth & Michael Bluth, Michael Bluth & Lindsay Bluth Funke
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	look at me now

**Author's Note:**

> title is from “look at me now” by caroline polachek:
> 
> _”you can't look at me now_  
>  _i haven't changed, i’m still the same”_

Upon returning home from school, Michael was approached by his mother. 

She clutched his shoulders with manicured nails, greeting him with a giddiness that Michael found unusual. 

It took a moment for Michael to realize that this cheerful disposition was the product of an emptied bottle of wine, sitting alone on the counter. He regarded her with a careful smile, instinctively shying from her breath, which smelled distinctly of alcohol. His mother leaned in closer, hands combing through his hair affectionately. 

“Darling, your father is leaving for the weekend,” she said softly, pulling him in for a hug. “He’s with that skank of a secretary. I’m sorry.”

Michael remained noticeably stiff in his mother's arms. “It's okay,” he replied, unable to work up even an ounce of believable emotion. 

“Oh, Michael,” Lucille murmured. She turned away. Despite the wine, Lucille walked with grace, her nightdress trailing behind her. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Michael nodded obediently.

“But if Buster asks, tell him I’m out with a friend… I cannot stand that  _ insufferable _ clicking sound his jaw makes,” Lucille sang out, swaying ever so slightly as she retired to her bedroom. She, of course, didn’t neglect to bring along a box of wine.

Michael wasn't surprised that she had forgotten his birthday. In the Bluth home, birthdays generally went unnoticed. George Sr. didn't think celebrating the birth of his children was necessary, claiming that they were “spoiled rotten anyhow”... and that “throwing a big party for a bunch of disappointments” would be absurd.

The Bluth children agreed not to ask any more questions about it. Unless they wanted to saddle themselves with more emotional baggage. 

Michael lugged his backpack into his room, determined to make a dent in his math homework before the day was out. Math was his weakest subject, and there was an upcoming test that had been weighing on his mind for some time. 

***

Three hours had passed since Michael decided to buckle down and finish up what was left of his math homework. Three long and frustrating hours. Michael was almost certain that his brain was running on nothing but caffeine and pure determination; a dangerous combination. The numbers blurred together, forming incoherent equations in Michael’s mind. 

His exercise book stared back at him, completely blank-- with the exception of a small, neat header at the top that read:  _ Michael Bluth Mathematics Homework _ . Proof that Michael Bluth was a failure who couldn't even manage to pass his high school mathematics course. The frustration built up steadily. It was like unrelenting pressure, weighing on his chest and his shoulders, pushing down on him. 

He felt the urge to snap his pencil in half and yell something unintelligible. Anything to relieve the pressure.

“Stupid Michael,” Michael said to the empty room. He balled up his fists and pressed them against his face. The pressure persisted. “ _ Stupid Michael _ .” 

There was a knock at the door. Michael turned around in his chair.

GOB was leaning on the doorframe, smiling widely. “Hey, Mikey.”

“GOB,” Michael said blandly. 

GOB intended to involve him in another one of his schemes, probably. He didn’t put aside time in his work schedule for GOB’s distractions, and this math homework was due tomorrow. Michael opened to his mouth to say as much, but GOB quickly cut him off.

“It's something important,” GOB insisted. “Follow me.”

Michael lifted a brow, clearly skeptical. “And your definition of important is…?”

GOB scoffed. “I don't have time for definitions, Michael! Not all of us are walking thesa--  _ thesaura _ \--” 

“Dictionaries,” Michael corrected. 

GOB promptly marched up to Michael and took him by the arm. Michael didn't resist. The odds of him finishing that math homework were slim anyway. It wouldn't hurt to spend some quality time with his brother.  _ Quality _ being a loose term. 

GOB had recently moved out and started work. (Though he refused to tell his father what his job was in definitive terms, the glitter that he sometimes forgot to wash off was a clear indication that it wasn't your typical suit and tie situation.)

“Oh, you're gonna be  _ so _ surprised,” GOB said, hooking an arm around Michael’s neck. 

“Good surprised or bad surprised?” Michael asked. Even though his perpetually cynical nature suggested otherwise, Michael was eager to see what GOB had in store for him. GOB’s enduring enthusiasm was infectious.

GOB considered the question. “Good!” he eventually replied.

The amount of time it took him to answer that question didn't inspire confidence, but then again, it could've been a GOB-ism. Michael couldn't help but hold out hope for something good, deliberately ignoring the side of his brain that relied on logic alone. 

Because that side of his brain was warning him that this was probably just another one of GOB’s magician meetings, in which GOB would plead that Michael be his stand-in assistant. Or the Hot Cops needed a place to crash for the weekend, and GOB wanted Michael to convince their parents to let a group of male strippers move in “temporarily”. 

But Michael was ignoring that part of his brain,  _ so _ . 

“Just wait ‘till you see it,” GOB said. 

They walked side-by-side down the long, grand corridors. It was when they passed Lucille’s bedroom that GOB’s excitement began to waver. They could both hear her loud, drunken crooning. She was singing along to an old song, back from her years as a war-time dancer, on the edge of tears. 

As they passed the door, GOB grew more and more uneasy, smiling nervously to cover up his apprehension. Michael recognised the unnatural way GOB jabbed at his arm, his laughter tight and tense.

He started to stutter. “The look-- loo-- the look on--”

Michael patted his shoulder. “Hey, pal,” he said, hoping to snap him out of it. “Say it slowly.”

“The look…” GOB said carefully, making an effort not to stutter, “the look on your face is going to be priceless.” 

GOB brightened immediately. “ _ Priceless _ !” he repeated, full of enthusiasm yet again.

“You’re probably right,” Michael said. 

***

Once they reached the living room, GOB instructed Michael to close his eyes and follow closely behind him. Michael reluctantly complied. His anxiety levels were slowly rising, but Michael was determined to see this through with an open mind. 

“Open them,” GOB said, unable to hide his excitement. 

“Surprise!” shouted all three of his siblings at once. Well-- Buster was a little late, but Michael respected the effort. 

“Happy birthday, brother!” Buster said.

“Look at banner, Michael!” GOB said, pointing to a colorful homemade banner hung above the fireplace. It said:  _ MICHAEL LOVE BIRTHDAY! _

It wasn't an extravagant affair, which Michael could appreciate. A few streamers dangled from the archway. There was a small vanilla cupcake on the counter, decorated with a candle and sprinkles. Beside that, Michael could see a cluster of gifts. A container of candy beans wrapped up with a bow. A tall gift bag that looked to be from an expensive, high-end store. And a stuffed animal of some sort. 

“But, Lindsay,” Michael began quietly, worried that Lindsay’s own birthday might have been overlooked. They were twins, after all.

“Don’t even say it,” Lindsay said. “You deserve this, okay?”

“Besides, her rich boyfriend bought her a car,” GOB helpfully added.

“It wasn't exactly a  _ Mercedes _ , GOB,” Lindsay snapped. “I’m trying to be nice. God.”

Michael couldn't help but find their bickering a relief. For a minute there, he was concerned that his siblings might have been replaced by  _ clones _ or something. 

“Thank you, guys. Seriously.” 

GOB laughed. “Come on, guy! Did you think we’d forget?”

Michael shrugged, thinking it impolite to admit that he was absolutely convinced everyone forgot. 

“Well, we didn’t,” Lindsay said. “We got you gifts and everything!”

His siblings led him to the counter, where they each handed over their respective gifts, arguing over which one Michael would open first. 

“I remembered how much you liked those candy beans from the hotel,” GOB said, turning over the container in his hands. There was a small label on the lid. GOB’s quick and messy handwriting was easy to place. 

“Your current biking shoes are what we in fashion call a  _ faux pas _ .” Lindsay held up her gift bag with pride. “But you’ll like these. They're totally your color.”

“It’s a dog,” Buster explained, presenting him with a small stuffed animal. From up close, Michael could tell that it was a golden retriever. “I was going to get a real dog, but I didn't know where the pet store was.”

They were thoughtful gifts, which made Michael feel all the more grateful to accept them. It was at times like these that Michael realized he didn't give his siblings enough credit. When they  _ wanted _ to be, the Bluths could be a pretty well-adjusted family.

Not long after, Michael had an unpleasant thought:  _ This isn't going to last long.  _ Unpleasant, but probably true. Because while the Bluths were more than capable of being a well-adjusted family, they just couldn't stick the landing. There would be a heartwarming moment, where everyone was getting along perfectly well-- and then something would go horribly wrong. It was unavoidable. 

And Michael would have to take responsibility. (He was the problem-solver of the family.) 

But as the Bluth children gathered on the couch, talking and laughing as though everything in their lives had been perfectly normal up to this point, Michael couldn't help but wonder if he was worrying for nothing. GOB was sprawled on the couch (as was customary for GOB), telling the story of how he got his apartment. It was equal parts outrageous and hilarious; everyone loved it. 

Buster was propped up on the armchair, drinking from a juice box. Occasionally he would make an observation about somebody and everyone would point out how accurate it was. Michael was genuinely surprised at just how intelligent his little brother could be. 

And there were Lindsay’s comments, which always got a laugh. Usually they were at someone else’s expense, but there weren't any hurt feelings. Once, she pointed out how GOB’s sweater was the most ungodly shade of purple imaginable, and everyone ended up laughing hysterically-- including GOB.

It was domestic. Normal. Michael cherished these moments. The moments where everyone was content, enjoying each other’s company. 

GOB was halfway through explaining why there was a comically large lizard in his apartment closet when there was a jarring knock at the door. Michael stiffened in his seat, sharing a look with his siblings. Everyone appeared to be just as clueless as he was. 

Michael stood up and made his way to the door, stepping around the littered streamers and snack bags. He peered through the peephole, recognising his father immediately. George Sr. was waiting impatiently in the hallway, clothes disheveled and a stern frown on his face. 

He opened the door, moving aside so that his father could heft his suitcases inside. The smell of alcohol hung in the air around him, apparent in the way that he grumbled and sniffed to himself. He shuffled as he shucked off his boots and put away his coat. 

The mood shifted drastically as the Bluth children fell silent and stayed perfectly still, so as to not accidentally aggravate their father. George Sr. was a fearsome drunk. 

“Goddamnit,” George Sr. swore, upon seeing the banner and the gifts. “ _ Goddamnit _ !”

“What's wrong, Dad?” GOB asked first, always so prompt when it came to his father.

“I’m having a meeting here tonight,” George Sr. said, slamming his fist on the counter with startling thud, “and you idiots turned this room into a circus! I’m gonna get fired!” 

“We’ll clean it up,” GOB said, motioning for Michael and Lindsay to back him up. They nodded along, voicing their agreement.

But George Sr. wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He was on the offense. “What are you doing here anyway, GOB?”

“I thought I’d help with the birthday party,” GOB said.

George Sr. was seething. “Jesus, becoming a manwhore wasn't enough?” 

“Daddy, we can clean it up,” Lindsay pleaded, glancing sympathetically at GOB. He looked hurt. 

“I expected better,” George Sr. said, raising his voice. “Especially from you, Michael. I’m disappointed.”

Michael’s face was hot with shame. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re all useless,” George Sr. muttered.

“Plans fell through, George?” Lucille was standing in the archway, a glass of wine in her hand. Her lips curled up in a mocking sneer. She was a shell of her former self; no longer vain and elegant, but a drunken mess. Tears were welling in her eyes. 

Buster was clinging to her dress, glaring at his father. 

“Lucille,” George Sr. sighed. “Let me be a parent. These kids need discipline.”

“Their father is a dirty cheater, what do you expect?” Lucille said snidely.

“You want them to end up like Buster, huh?” George Sr. shot back. 

“You bastard,” Lucille snapped. She gently patted Buster’s head, guiding him to his room. Comforting him as he cried into her dress. “Don’t listen to him, darling…” 

And as their footsteps receded down the corridor, George Sr. picked up right where he left off. Michael silently prayed for his mother to return. To protect them; to tell her husband that this wasn't acceptable. But at the same time, Michael couldn't help but feel as if this was all his fault. He could have been more mature about this. More  _ responsible _ . Maybe he deserved it. 

“I’m their father, goddamnit!” George Sr. shouted. 

“I’m their father,” George Sr. murmured once more, sounding utterly defeated. “I’m the father of a male stripper and a disappointment.”

Michael stared straight ahead, unable to face his father. He could sense the pressure building, pushing on his chest. It was hard to breathe.

“Dad,” GOB said, voice wavering with desperation.

“That isn't fair,” Lindsay said. 

“Stay out of this, honey,” George Sr. demanded. 

“But you’re not being fair!” Lindsay protested. She promptly marched up to him, fists balled up at her sides. “We were just trying to--”

Suddenly, George Sr. seized her arm. She gasped, reeling backward but unable to wrestle her arm away. 

With not an ounce of hesitation, GOB said: “Let go of her.” 

George Sr. released her. He blinked and placed a hand on his forehead, clearly disoriented. “I didn't-- I didn’t mean to…” 

Michael put an arm on Lindsay’s shoulder. She was shaking. 

“We’re leaving,” GOB said. 

Michael knew that GOB loved his father. GOB wanted his approval and respect more than anything. GOB put his father first,  _ always _ . But there was a line. And their father had crossed it. 

GOB gestured to the door, holding it open so that Michael and Lindsay could leave first. As they left, their father dropped onto the couch, breathing heavily. Drained of his anger. 

GOB locked eyes with him one last time before closing the door. 

***

The pier was lonely at this time of night. There was a heavy chill in the air. Reflections of the moonlight danced on the water, glimmering in the darkness. Faint cricket chirps mingled with the sound of the waves. 

Michael was sitting on the pier, legs dangling. 

“Hey, Mikey,” GOB said. 

“Yeah?” 

“When I was coming to get you, for the… party,” GOB said, wary of the word, “I heard you say something.” 

“What did I say?” 

“I think you called yourself stupid,” GOB answered, looking away from Michael and out at the water. The waves slowly rose and fell. 

“Oh,” Michael said. He sighed. “I was frustrated. Math homework.” 

“Michael, you're not stupid,” Lindsay said. 

Michael almost said  _ I know _ , because that's what they wanted to hear. There would be no more questions and everyone would feel content. But Michael didn't know. The report cards could only assure him so much. The passing acknowledgments of his parents, pats on the back, words of encouragement… Through it all, Michael doubted himself. Soon, they would all realize that he wasn't smart. Even worse, he was faking it all along.

“Everyone thinks I know what I’m doing,” Michael began. He could sense GOB and Lindsay shifting, clearly caught off guard by his answer. “But I don’t. I don't know.” 

It felt good to say it out loud. The pressure eased. 

“I don't know!” Michael said, louder, hearing his voice echo in the distance. It felt liberating. 

GOB grinned. He stood up and beckoned for his siblings to join him. “Watch this.”

GOB cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “ _ I don't know! _ ” 

Lindsay stepped on the very edge of the pier, craning her neck out. “I don't know!” she cried out into the darkness.

Their voices carried along the water, drifting endlessly with the cold night air. Michael shouted as loud as his lungs would allow, his fear and anxiety trumped by the sheer thrill of what he was doing… if only for one unforgettable moment. He stood there, listening in awe at the echo of his own voice. 

Nearby boats flashed their lights at the disturbance.

Michael took a deep breath. He sat down on the pier, leaning back on the palms of his hands. 

A comfortable silence fell over them. They stared at the night sky. The moon shone brilliantly. In Michael’s eyes, the moon looked more bright and hopeful than ever before. 

“Nobody knows what they’re doing,” Lindsay said. “You don't have to stress yourself out too much.” 

A small smile appeared on her face. She tapped his forehead. “It gives you wrinkles, you know?” 

Michael couldn't manage a frown. “Wrinkles. Yeah. ‘Cause  _ that’s _ what I’m worried about.” He playfully swatted away her hand. 

“You’re our brother, Mikey,” GOB said. He pulled him in from behind and ruffled his hair. “Besides... if you’re gonna worry about something, don't worry about wrinkles. Worry about balding.” 

Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Oh, if anyone's going to inherit Dad’s unfortunate lack of hair, it's you, GOB,” she teased.

“ _ Please _ ,” GOB said. “This hairline is staying right where it is.”

“I don't know, GOB…” Michael said. “I can already see it receding,  _ juuust _ a little.” 

“If it wasn’t your birthday, I would have already pushed you into the water by now,” GOB said. 

Michael laughed.

On that night, Michael felt happy. True, genuine happiness. No strings attached. 

On that eye-opening night on the pier, with the crickets chirping and the boat lights flashing, Michael decided that he would stand by his siblings no matter what. Not because they were Bluths. But because they were  _ family _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts & b my friend on tumblr: @apoltergeist
> 
> kudos/comments make me happy! 
> 
> (yes this is a repost-- i got nervous + deleted it but it's back!)


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